


Rust and Blood

by Faetality



Series: Rust and Blood [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Argent Mafia, M/M, Mafia AU, Mistaken Identity, Russian Mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: His name is Peter Hale. He was born in Phoenix Arizona to Jack and Anna Hale. They died tragically in the crossfire of a drug deal gone wrong and he had turned to the streets to make ends meet. He came to Atlanta on the recommendation of Reina Calaveras, a high honor for someone of their lifestyle.His name is Peter Hale.His life is a lie.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: Rust and Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940149
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

Peter Volkov was born Into the life of the brotherhood. They were money launderers and hit men and thieves beyond that. His grandfather- Alexander Volkov- had been a prisoner in the Gulag during WW2 and, after being freed in the fifties, began working on his own empire. 

By the time Peter was born they had changed a little, less open but by no means weaker. His father had broken the code when he married Peter’s mother, she owned a ballet studio in the city. Kept it even when they told her there was no room for honest work. She had smiled and said “then make it dirty” and turned the ballroom into a safe house. His father broke the rules again when he had Peter’s siblings. But he lived on and the rules had been… bent, no one would dare strike against them after all. Not when they held the city of Moscow in their pocket. 

Peter was raised knowing he would become an enforcer. He had little interest in pickpocketing or lifting cars for his living. A joy ride was good and fun but it was boring after the tenth. No, he had known from the first time he laid another boy, four years his senior, out on the pavement with his knuckles stinging and blood dripping steadily onto the ground that there was only one role that would satisfy him. His eldest sister would take over the Family after their mother, his eldest brother would serve as the head in St. Petersburg - already did by the time Peter was ten- and his other sister, she would run the studio for their mother. It was simply how it would be done. Everyone knew that. Even though Peter loved the studio, he had no patience for teaching classes. 

He was twenty four when it all went wrong. 

A meeting with the Americans. “I know you want to be here but Jaska has come down from Petersburg and Illya has pulled the best. Take the children out for me and tonight we will celebrate the trade deal. The children haven’t has a chance to go anywhere since the business with Tolivich was finished.”

“Fine, but You had better save me a drink. Gods know I’ll need it after putting up with _ your _ kids.” Talia laughs. 

“Go on. I’ll see you tonight, brother mine.” 

It was so stupid, looking back on it. How easily he had let it go, taking her kids  _ ice skating _ while they met with  _ them.  _ He should have been there before the first shot was ever fired. He should have been there and maybe he could have saved _ someone.  _ It kept him up some nights, The not knowing if he could have made a difference. In the first days after he didn’t care if he wouldn’t have changed a thing- at least he wouldn’t have been mourning them. He wouldn’t have been biting back screams with every move he made as the burns stretched and pulsed. 

The children survived. He might have resented them too for a time. Not long. Never long. Lyuba and Dmitri were old enough to understand, fourteen and eight. Old enough to scream at him for not doing enough. Kara however, hardly two years old, she would never Know, never understand the tragedy that had happened. Oh, there were others. Low ranking men and women in the organization, a few higher ups which Peter could count on a hand. But the Argents had been thorough indeed. 

Peter gave the order to lay low and scatter. It took only two Wells before he sent out the order that everyone was to _ live _ and that his revenge would be his alone. He made the promise to contact each of them when it was done and when they could begin to rebuild. It was a promise he hopes now to keep. 

*

“Your names are Laura and Derek  _ Hale _ .”

“But they aren’t.”

“ _ They are.  _ Do you understand? You’re Laura and Derek and your sister is Cora because the Volkovs are dead. And if you call yourself one you will be too.” It’s cruel, even for him, to strip them of their names. He knows they might hate him for it, he would if he were them, but it is about their survival. He had promised Talia he would take care of them and that’s what he would do. Even if it means leaving them with Deucalion Blackwood until his job is done. 

Walking away from that house, with the last of his living blood in its walls is perhaps the hardest thing he has ever done. Kara- Cora as her birth certificate now stated- had screamed every time he attempted to hand her off. She clung to his shirt and reached tiny hands out to him and _ screamed _ until he was out of ear shot. When he sits behind the wheel of his car he screams as well. It feels deserved. He refuses to cry. 

*

His name is Peter Hale. He was born in Phoenix Arizona to Jack and Anna Hale. They died tragically in the crossfire of a drug deal gone wrong and he had turned to the streets to make ends meet. He came to Atlanta on the recommendation of Reina Calaveras, a high honor for someone of their lifestyle and all the qualification he would need to get work at La Rosa. 

The restaurant was small, located on the Far East side of the city, and the windows were a bit smudged around the edges. A hostess greets him s as soon s as he steps through the door. “Hi, how many?”

“Just one.” His accent is perfectly crafted, not a syllable out of place for an American. He’s sat by the wall with a menu and the promise that someone will be right with him. She’s right, a waitress is with him in less than a minute. 

“Hi! I’m Amy, What can I start you with to drink?”

“Do you carry the Silver Bullet Rosé?” He watches but she gives no sign of anything amiss, just nods. “We do, should I bring out a glass?”

“Please.”

She does indeed return with a glass of white wine, she sets it by his hand and disappears just as quickly. 

“You must be Mr. Hale.” 

The man is unassuming at first glance, slim with mousy brown hair and thick rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He didn’t offer his hand, just took the vacant seat across the table. “I’m Jeremy Gray, it’s nice to meet you, the Calaveras called ahead of your arrival.

“Tell me about yourself.”

This was a job interview. Simple, stupidly mundane, and the biggest risk to his plan. 

“As I’m sure you know my name is Peter Hale, 27, and I’m from Phoenix Arizona. I’ve been in the business officially for eight years now, mostly running or providing freelance security. I did work briefly in recovery and acquisition and enjoyed it, though found I work best in small groups.”

“How are you about working with the public or private sector?”

_ Any police records or grudges? _

“No issues working with the public, I was in the private sector for three months but I left without any hard feelings.”  _ Three months in jail but nothing since.  _

The meeting was mostly for show and both Peter and Jeremy know it. The records, his history, it was all combed over before he ever touched soil in Georgia. The moment Araya mentioned his name they would have picked his life apart. He smiles. 

“Well, Mr. Hale I don’t see why you can’t start on Monday. Be at this address at nine am and your training will begin.” As quickly as he has appeared the man was gone and Peter was left alone with his wine. 

-

His first night in Atlanta he doesn’t sleep. He sits in the floor of his empty apartment at the Sandcrest complex and wonders how long the cold gray walls would be his home. The sparse furniture that he owned would arrive tomorrow, a couch, a dresser, and a bed are all the pieces he owns now. Nothing felt worth bringing from Mexico, nothing there was irreplaceable. Nothing there was worth dragging with him into a new life. He drags a blanket over his shoulders and scrunches the jacket he’s using as a pillow further. 

It’s a long night. 

He spends the second day wandering the city, trying to get acquainted with the ins and outs of the restaurants and public transport. That’s one thing he has never understood and will certainly never like about America. The expectation of a car made everything else so very  _ inconvenient.  _ He hates it. Passionately. But Atlanta, for all its size, is not a hardship to walk. There’s graffiti on the sides of every other building and a chill in the air that almost feels like home. The towering buildings almost reminiscent of Moscow. Almost. He breathes deep and there’s the warm smell of pastries. He follows it down the street and at the end of the block he finds a shop proclaiming to have the ‘World’s Greatest Doughnuts’. Peter has to try them. He takes a box and, seeing that it’s two, heads back to meet the delivery guys. 

It’s on the way up that he meets one of his new neighbors. He has his key in the door, preparing to gripe with the movers about getting the furniture up the steps when a young woman says,

“Sir? Oh sorry, just, you jus’ moved in right? I’m Asher I live in 217 next door on the bottom floor.” She seems nice, probably a college student if he judges by the bag over her shoulder. She comes about to mid chest on him though with how her hair spiked upward it gave her a bit more height than she really had. “I just wanted to say hi, welcome you to the building and whatever.”

“I appreciate it, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Peter.”

“Well, I’ll stop bugging you now. But if you ever need anything just knock on the door. I’ve got roommates so someone’s almost always home.” 

He smiles and nods, let’s himself in the door. Maybe he’d take her up on the offer, after all, it’s important to keep appearances in a life like his. 

He rolls out of bed on Monday and dresses with more care that one would think. He chooses a long sleeve shirt, not unusual for Autumn even in Georgia, and dark jeans. He needs to make an impression and he will damn well make it a good one. 

The first thing Peter notes upon arrival is that the building was _ clean.  _ Not just the floors or anything so trivial but the very picture it cut was sleek. No building he had ever run was sordid, no matter what went on behind it’s closed doors, but none looked so professional as the one that proclaimed itself Argent Real Estate. Peter steps through the door and gives his most charming smile to the young woman at the desk. The name plate called her Amelia. 

“Hello, i have an appointment.” He holds the business card, different than the ones stacked neatly on her desk but declaring the same business nonetheless, up so she can see. 

“Last office on the left. Just knock before you go in.” 

He does as instructed and finds himself sitting across from a jet haired man with heavy rings on his hands. 

The meeting is longer than his  _ “interview _ ”. He’s given a code and a list of buildings both in and out of the city that are owned by the organization. Places that business could be conducted in and places where one could lie low. He knows they aren’t giving him everything, they’d be stupid too, but it’s more than he expected to be given. Of course it would come with a price. 

“You’ll be giving a few people who have missed their payments an incentive to find them. You’ll go on the rounds with Chris, he knows them and can loop you in with how we do these kinds of things.” It’s grunt work and that’s what Peter expected. “Chris should be here in about ten minutes, you can wait in here.” 

Indeed it’s almost exactly ten minutes when another knock sounds off. “Chris, this is Peter. You’ll be partners for a while. If he gives any trouble feel free to show him how we handle mistakes.” It’s said jokingly, almost. Peter knows a warning when he hears it. He doesn’t evaluate Chris like the other man does him, not so openly at least. Not until they’re on the street. 

“You’re going to wear those shoes?” Is the first thing Chris says to him. They’re hardly fifty feet from the agency. 

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” 

“You want boots. Trust me.” Peter uses the incredulous moment to stare. He takes in his partner. About the same height as himself, eyes so blue they may be crystal, good posture - probably not a street kid then- dressed in a utilitarian style. He seems like he’s serious but if he’s running the same route as Peter is now and on a routine he’s not too high up the ranks. Probably not a bad choice for an ally. Or, better put, a pawn. Perhaps the man would prove useful, perhaps he wouldn’t but there was no need to make an(other) enemy so soon. So he gives a tight smile and acqueises with a slight incline of his head. 

“Of course, I wasn’t sure what I would be doing today. Just let me go change.” His car was parked in a garage further down and Chris leaned against the side while Peter laced his boots. The man was quiet but it wasn’t a bother, they were strangers and idle chit chat had never been Peter’s strength. 

“Where are you from?” Chris asked as Peter finished with the laces. 

“Arizona. You?”

“Born right here.”

“Then you can show me all the good spots to get something to eat.” Chris snorted, it wasn’t a pretty sound but the small laugh that followed it was nice. 

“Are you trying to make friends?”

“No, I’m using you for information. Clearly.” 

They start at an apartment complex. It’s old but not in terrible condition and the steps were only a little chipped. “Everyone here pays a little extra for protection from the Sureños. A few years back they moved in hard and fast but they’ve pulled back recently since we took over the neighborhood.”

“And we’re here because someone missed a payment?”

“Two did, 137 and 223. We’re here to collect.” 

“Starting right into it, huh?” 

“I was told you worked for Araya. I’m sure this will be just your speed.” and with that Chris opened the gate and led them into the building. 

Andrew Simms, resident of apartment 137, was a prick. He set Peter’s teeth on edge the moment he opened the door- and subsequently tried to close it in their face. Tried being the keyword; as soon as the door reversed its trajectory Christopher’s palm was against it and he pushed forward until there was no room for it to close. Peter smiled. “Can we come in?” 

Chris used his words as an invitation and shoved fully inside. Andrew stumbled and it was enough opportunity for Peter to grab his shoulder and steer him into a torn armchair. He stood at the side, hand heavy where it remained on the man’s shoulder. He listened while Chris did he spiel. There was something sexy about competence. Knowing that someone could handle themselves and you as well. 

Peter had no illusions about what he liked. He’d bedded women and men both in his time without a preference for either. Though back home it was much harder to find a man willing to take the risk of being caught with him. In America all he had to do was make sure he didn’t get into it with someone tied to a rival organization.  _ Within  _ the group, well, they wouldn’t be inclined to snitch either. Peter had never found anything wrong with mixing business and pleasure, as long as you’re smart about it. No one has ever called him stupid. Beyond the pleasure aspect lay the fact that people talked after sex, let things slip. A name here, a job there, it’s nice. Easy. 

“This is your third time missing a payment.”

“I already  _ told  _ them last time. I don’t want your protection and I don’t need it either.” Chris raised a brow. Peter tightened his grip. 

“You see. That money works both ways, it protects you from the Sureños and the Bloods but it also protects you from _ us.”  _ Chris smiled, but Peter knew a wolf’s grin when he saw it. “So, you want to pay it in cash or blood?”

The man gave a defiant glare and Peter notes a tattoo near his collar. “I don’t think he needs protection from the Bloods.” 

Chris raised a brow. 

“Is that so?”

Peter was a bit disappointed to be the one holding the man down. The satisfying crack of knuckles against skin was loud in the apartment and Peter watched Chris reign himself in and step back to his original position like an actor with a mark. “You have two weeks to find a new complex. Consider this your eviction notice, if you’re still on the property the next time we come around I won’t just hit you once.” Blue eyes shift to Peter. “Let’s go.”

They stopped on the stairs. 

“You let him off easy.”

“I got my point across. Now come on, I don’t like wasting time.”

The woman who opened the door to apartment 223 is not what Peter expected. Looking at the wrinkled face he thought- _ Am I about to be asked to shake down a woman older than my Babushka?  _ But the woman smiled wide, “Christopher, what brings you by?”

“Just checking up on you, Miss Johnson.”

“Well, come on in and bring that handsome friend of yours with you.”

It was the same layout as the apartment downstairs but this place smelled like vanilla and was cozy. 

“Would you like some sweet tea? Cookies? Oh, tell me your name, hun.”

“Peter.”

“That’s my nephew’s name.” Chris interrupted. 

“How have you been, Miss J?”   
“Oh, well… I’ve been just fine sweetie.”   
“Are you sure?”   
“I missed that payment this month didn’t I?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh, well. Shanna graduated this month so I took her to dinner but then I fell and had to go to the hospital and that bill just cleared me out. I had it all saved up too. I’m sorry. Tell ya what, I’ll call the pawn shop and get that money to you by Friday alright?” She rung her hands together and seemed so earnest about it. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll cover it this month. Tell your granddaughter congratulations.” 

“Are you sure? Sweetie, I can get it I promise.” 

“No, no. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.” 

“You’re a good kid, Chris.”

-

Weeks pass the same. Peter meets Chris early in the morning and they do rounds, sometimes it’s collecting money, other times it’s making a delivery. None of it is particularly interesting. One morning the routine changed and they met in a diner, had breakfast together before setting out north for the day. It doesn’t really change until the day someone decided to push back. Peter split his knuckles on their teeth, lost his jacket to their knife in an attempt to move Chris away from the window before it blew in, and got the pleasure of watching the man join the fight. Chris fought like a man trained to do it, like a man given permission. Peter fought like a beast let loose. 

“There’s a poker game tonight at the restaurant. You should come.” 

Peter would never refuse an invitation, not when the drinks were provided. 

“You brought the new guy?” 

“Yeah, he’s with me. 

Well then, sit down. We’re about to deal.”

“What’s the buy in?” Peter asked. 

“It’s small change today so five bucks on the first round. I’m Rick, that over there is John, and our dealer tonight is Andrew. You want a beer?” Peter was never a fan of beer, he much preferred whiskey or, most often vodka. Perhaps he was a stereotype. He smiles and accepts the offer anyway. 

Peter hates to say it but he actually enjoys the night. He sat to Chris’ right and any time the evening high lulled the man would tap his foot and offer him another drink or a grin as say “what’s wrong, Arizona? Gettin’ sleepy?”It was reminiscent of the days he’d sit around in the back of the family restaurant. He drank more to forget that comparison. 

He walks out into the humid night air a few dollars poorer but he’s too buzzed to care much. ‘You alright to get home?” The voice comes from behind. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Careful or I might start to believe you like me.” 

“No one likes you, Hale.”

“Everyone does. It’s my charm.” 

“Come on, I’ll walk you over to your place. It’s on my way.” 

Their shoulders brush together and Peter can’t help but lean toward the touch.

“You never say anything about family.”

Peter side eyes him and replies, carefully “Neither do you.” 

The silence that gathers is as heavy as the air between them and Peter licks his lips once before saying, “I have two nieces and a nephew. They’re with family friends.”

“I have a father and sister. We aren’t very close.” Chris doesn’t ask why they aren’t with him, why they aren’t with their mother and father and for that Peter is grateful. Grateful that he could read between what was and wasn’t said. 

“Well, this is mine.” He stops at the front step, ignoring the voice that screamed letting anyone know his location was dangerous and smiles instead. “Thank you for the evening, Chris.” 

“No problem.” The streetlamps throw harsh shadows over the man’s face but the smile he gives is undeniably soft. Peter opens the door before he can do something stupid. “Be safe.”

“I’m going back to the game actually, left my car around the back.” 

_ It’s on my way.  _

Peter laughs.

-

“Hale! Boss wants you to be the muscle on the next run.”

“Alright, when does it leave?”

“Ten minutes from the restaurant.”

With a curse he jumps up, shoves his pistol in it’s holster and slings his jacket on. If he runs he could make it. 

He makes it two minutes late and practically throws himself into the truck. Not a word is said after the driver- some kid he hasn’t seen before- gets a look at his murderous expression. They’re going out of the city for this one and Peter settles in for the drive. It was just him and the kid in the truck, two other pairs of men trailing behind them to act as extra security. 

He gets a text from Chris halfway there;

_ Be careful.  _

It doesn’t instill confidence. 

The warehouse seems mostly deserted when they arrive, a few pickups sitting around but no people, the main building to the ‘construction business’ a genuine business with a bit of a side hustle, had only two figures beyond the windows. The kid grabs the bag with their drop off and Peter follows him closely. The other two guys follow them both further back. 

“This don’t feel right man.” 

“Whatever Argent does with you for not following through will be worse than anything in that building.” He doesn’t say another word as they enter. His first thought is that it’s definitely a set up, his second is that they probably should have brought more backup. Six men greet them and the boy in front of him stammers through a greeting, pretending he knows what he’s going on about. Peter sees the gun before the goon has a chance to fire, because Peter was to high class to be referred to as such but the man scout to shoot his charge was certainly not. He uses one hand to drag the kid back toward the cover of stacked pallets. 

“You got a gun? Good, they don’t care if you die so you can’t care about them. Pull the trigger if you think you have a clear shot.” Peter takes a deep breath. “If you shoot me I will rip your heart out through your throat.” With that he’s up again. Fire fights were never his thing, he much preferred a good old fashioned brawl or a knife. That doesn’t mean he can’t hit a target. The first bullet merely grazes his bicep and forced him back under cover. The second nearly takes his ear. 

When the gunfire stops Peter takes stock, seven bodies lie on the ground, five further in and two behind him. The kid seems alright, if shaken, and he barks an order “See if they’re alive, use your jacket to stop the bleeding if they need it.” The Argent men were hardly above the men who ambushed them but on the off chance that they were still breathing it would be better to feign care. Groans draw him toward the far wall. 

He crouches by the man’s side. “You thought this was a good idea? Truly?” Using the barrel of the gun he nudges the man’s jacket to the side. The bullet seemed to lodge somewhere beneath his ribs. 

“Wanted to show him a lesson.” 

“Well, you really showed him. I hope for your family’s sake he doesn’t care.”

“Um, Peter?” 

“Hm?”  _ Well it seems I’m not that lucky after all, though…  _ “Okay, I’ll pull the truck around and we’ll drop him off at the hospital. You’ll be fine, Jones.” He doesn’t find any more trouble on his way to get the truck. 

“Argent…”

“Is going to want to talk to us, yes. I expect we’ll be called up before we get back into city limits.” 

He was almost right. They were pulling into the parking garage to dump the truck when his “company issued” phone began to ring. “Hale.” 

“You’ll be receiving an address, once the text comes through you’ll have half an hour to get there. Do not be late.” 

The Argent’s property sprawled over fifty acres of land, it was not their only property but it was the closest one to the city. Peter was not allowed in the main house when he first arrived and instead was shown around the outside of the house to a covered platform. He sits quietly where directed and waits. 

“I heard that you saved two of our men today.” 

“I did.” it’s a struggle not to turn around when he hears the man’s voice. He had known that he would face Gerard Argent one day but he had counted on another month or two before he had to pretend the smug bastard didn’t make him want to vomit. 

“You came to us from Araya, quite lucky for us I suppose. But why?”

“I needed a change of scenery.”

“I’m sure you did. I don’t let my men’s deeds go unrewarded, tell me; what would you like as a thank you for both the men and money you brought back today?” 

“I don’t need any reward… sir.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Surely there is something you want, a man like you doesn’t strike me as the simple type.” It’s a backhanded compliment but Peter can’t tell which direction it comes from. “Tell me what you want.”

“I’d like to choose a permanent partner to work with. Today demonstrated that not all of my  _ coworkers  _ have the ability to handle their own while watching someone else’s back.”

“Reasonable enough. Who would you like?”   
“Chris. He usually runs the beat past Five Points.”

The man laughs like it’s a private joke. “Done. Now, go home and rest. You can take the next few days for yourself.” 

Peter leaves the complex with a feeling that his life just got more complicated and maybe he was a step closer to putting that knife in the old bastard’s back. 

*

He’s woken by a pounding on the door. The clock blinks at him 7:04 and he groans low and long. His body feels like a train wreck and all he wanted was to sleep in a bit on the first free day he had had in awhile. Still, he drags himself down to the door and swings it open with a growl, “What?”

It’s Chris. Of course it’s Chris. 

“You requested me as a partner?”

“Yes, jesus, why are you surprised?”

“I- are you going to let me in?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” 

They stare off until Chris breaks and laughs. “God, you’re ridiculous. Just let me in and I’ll make you coffee.”

“I don’t have a coffee maker.”

“Then I’ll take you to that cafe on King and buy you some.” 

“I don’t even like coffee.”

“Tea then.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.” 

“People don’t ask for partners. Not in this business.”

“I need someone at my back that I trust and that, surprisingly enough, is you.” He pulls the warm cup of earl gray closer to his chest. “If that’s a problem by all means I’ll revoke my request.”

“No. It was just… unexpected.”

“Are you free today?”

“I am… why?”   
“I was thinking about going to a movie, would you want to join me?”   
  


It’s a dangerous thing, making friends. Peter knows it but he can’t stop the way he laughs and he can’t revoke the invite he had given. The ones he would give again. He had been alone for a while, a long time really, and now, given the chance he didn’t  _ want  _ to be alone anymore. Even if it was only one man at his side, one friend. That was better than none. Chris wouldn’t be a confidant, he wouldn’t  _ help  _ Peter in his goal but maybe he could keep him grounded and keep his cover. Yes. It’s a strategic move. He could convince himself of that. 

He repeats that every time he steals his popcorn. 

He’s still repeating it months down the line.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter fucked up. Blood is dripping into his eyes, his arm feels like someone had taken a bat to it… well, they  _ had  _ but that isn’t the point. He stumbles and feels the arm around his ribs tighten briefly, Chris isn’t faring much better. Peter is sure they’re only standing because they’re both too stubborn to let the other do all of the work. “Almost there, my keys are- fuck- yeah back pocket. Okay.” The door bounces off the wall and he knows that the paint will need touch ups but that would be after the floor was cleaned of their blood. 

“Fourteen steps, come on.” It takes an eternity, every step eliciting a groan or heavy, pained breath from one or both of them. Near the top Peter falters, one knee cracking hard against the landing edge.  _ “Ё-моё!”  _ He takes a few deep breaths and feels Chris shift beside him, “Come on, I need to get this stitched before I pass out.” 

The bathroom light makes it all look worse. He’s surprised they made it honestly. 

Chris slumps against the wall of the shower, landing more heavily than Peter had intended him too. “Here, I can- let me help you first.” Stitches had never been his strong suit but he manages to get the needle steady, the slash was deep but the bleeding had slowed enough that he could work with it. The position, just below the man’s rib cage, was going to cause problems though. 

“Your arm…” 

“Can be set in the morning. I just need rest.” 

“You have a concussion…”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just- shut up and let me do this.” 

Chris doesn’t shut up. He talks to Peter through the stitches, through the press of gauze and the stretch of poorly placed tape Chris talks to him. Tells him nonsensical things, ghosts stories and old wives tales from the area, he talks about his mother and how she used to look at his scraped knees and brides and tut before taking him inside for a cup of hot chocolate while she cared for him. Even when his hands are shaking with exhaustion his voice is steady, low and tired but steady all the same. 

When they’re both as pieces together as they’re going to get tonight they hello each other stand. Jeans and shirts are left on the linoleum as they stumble toward Peter’s lone queen bed. “Y’ shouldn’t sleep. Concussion.”

“I’ll be fine.” Peter is too tired to care. Chris is too tired to argue. 

They settle down gingerly, careful of their wounds and by the time Chris pulls the blankets up and Peter hums a “goodnight” they’re both asleep. 

*

Peter thinks it must have passed noon when he wakes. There’s an arm thrown gently over his hip and an all over ache. He moves and the throb turns sharp. 

“Chris?” 

“Mm.” the man opens his eyes and Peter feels relief wash over him. “What is it?”

“Just making sure you didn’t die on me.” 

“How’s your arm?”

“Don’t remind me. I’ll need you to help me set it.”

“I’ll put the coffee on first.”

“I… still don’t have a coffee maker.” 

“I hate you.” 

“I’ll order you breakfast.” 

They move back to the bathroom to finish their caretaking. It looks both better and worse than their initial assessment and Peter wants to curse at the amount of stains around the bathroom itself; it would take a lot to get his deposit back. He left indentions in his belt when Chris set his arm, teeth clenched so hard around a scream that he was surprised no one came knocking. 

“Okay, it’s done.” They take turns cleaning up, Chris goes first and when he enters the living room it’s to the smell of biscuits and bacon. Peter’s apartment was sparse in decor, the couch was so new that it creaked when Chris sat and the coffee table still had a bit of plastic caught beneath the glass centerpiece. When breakfast arrives Peter is the one who limps down to get it. Chris’ black eye and sutured brow was not what the poor delivery kid needed to see. He returns upstairs to find Chris on the phone. 

With a clipped “thanks” Chris tosses the phone onto the table. “Andie’s team is doing clean up. Asked if we released a pack of wolves there.” His hands curl around the coffee cup Peter hands over and his eyes close as he savors it. 

Chris had become a friend, Peter doesn’t know how but somewhere asking the line he’s let his guard down and the man crossed that line into some sort of sincere connection. It’s a problem but not one for immediate concern. Burn that bridge when you get to it and all. 

They spend the day watching action movies, passing a bottle of pain meds between them every few hours. 

“Do you ever think what you would do if you weren’t in this business?”

“I’d be a professor I think.” Peter answers. Chris shifts in surprise. “I like to learn and I enjoy judging others. If they learn from it all the better; there are already too many idiots in the world.” Chris laughs, winces and holds his side. 

“I think I would open a self defense class.”

“Why?”

“I would like to help people who need it and I’m good at it.”

“You’re a better man than most.” He means it, gives a gentle squeeze to the other’s leg to emphasize. It’s the truth, good men didn’t last long in their line of work but Chris has managed to remain at least better than Peter would expect of any average citizen. Maybe his view is wrong. It wouldn’t be surprising.

*

He shoves the needle into the man’s arm and waits. The opportunity that had presented itself to him was too good to let pass. A higher ranking member of Argent’s organization, with knowledge of the estate and inner security alone and on the outskirts of the city? It was child’s play to render him unconscious and moved to a secure location. With a shot of epinephrine to get the blood rushing Peter only had a minute or so to wait. 

Several instruments laid about, all designed to pull information from his targets in the quickest and cleanest manner possible. Well… mostly. 

He gets what he needs with only a small amount of blood on the hem of his pants. The man though… Peter kicks his foot and watches for the rise of his chest. It’s there but faint. He rolls a tarp out and cuts the bonds holding the man to the chair, tipping him forward to wrap him in the sheeting. “You know, you could be less heavy for someone in our profession. A few less carbs and a lot less drinking probably could have saved your life.” 

He’s just dropping the body off sixty miles north in some forestry land when his phone lights up with a text. 

_ [Chris:] Dinner tomorrow? _

He grins, and types out a reply. _ [Of course. So long as you’re buying.]  _

*

Chris comes through the door with his arm around a woman and Peter sees red. He’d never lied to himself about his desires but… he couldn’t have Chris. Not like that. She introduces herself as Victoria and Peter shakes her hand. 

Victoria stays for two weeks. Peter never sees Chris in that time. It shouldn’t bother him like it does.

When she leaves he hedges to ask - “So is it serious?”

“What? Oh no, no. My dad wants me to marry her I think but… I don’t think it will happen.”

“Got someone else in mind?”   
“... no.” 

*

It isn’t supposed to be serious. It isn’t supposed to be a thing that they have to  _ think  _ about. Nothing to hide. 

Peter thinks he drank too much. There’s a warm body under him and a puff of breath across his neck every so often. The arm around his waist tightens and a hand grips his thigh that is tossed over  _ someone’s  _ hips. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He does it anyway.and nearly bolts from the bed.

Chris is still asleep. There’s a fucking  _ hickey  _ on his neck and he’s sleeping peacefully in Peter’s bed. This was supposed to be some fun around the shitshow that had been his infiltration so far and now… they were so dead. Peter was so dead. There’s no way that Chris wakes and is fine with everything that they did or didn’t do.  _ How much did I fucking  _ **_drink?_ **

He slowly wrangles himself free of both sheets and Chris’ grip, heading toward the kitchen. He remembers to grab his boxers from the floor on the way and the thin fabric feels a bit like a shield as he busies himself with the coffee maker. As it begins to drip he finds himself lost- 

_ “You cannot be doing this, Peter” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “It’s not… it’s not acceptable. They will beat you for it and not even our name will stave those rumors.” Talia is sitting behind her desk, somewhere outside there is a party and young men and women both laugh at the night.  _

_ “If anyone takes issue with my preferred partners then I will show them why that is a bad idea. But I doubt many would even notice. I’m not writing it on the walls of the Kremlin, Talia.”  _

_ “I worry. You are part of this family and this empire we’ve built isn’t as stable as it was before.” _

_ “I’ll be careful, sister. I promise.” _

“Good morning.” stubble scrapes his neck, arms wind around his waist. He’s calm. Peter doesn’t know what to do with that. “Your apartment is cold.”

“You could put your pants on.”

“Or you could come to bed.” The silence is stifling but Peter can’t find any words. “Are you upset?”

“No! No, I just. I didn’t expect this.”

“Is this a bad thing?”

“No.” He turns and Chris is wearing a frown. The hands on his hips tighten and Peter presses their lips together. “No, it’s not.”

It happens twice more in the month. Peter wonders if it counts as dating by the sixth time they leave dinner together. He doesn’t dare ask though.

Some things didn’t need definitions. 

***

“You’ll be with Jack next week. My father decided that he needs me on the West Coast for some kind of business meeting.” 

“Which one is he again?” 

“The skinny dark haired guy from Calhoun.”

“Ah. Alright then, I had plans next week anyway.”

There’s a playful slap on his ass and he laughs. “Sure you did.”

*

He gets a phone call one afternoon from a number he does not recognize. When a laugh and a brief excuse he made his way into the gravel lot of the bar they were in. 

“Hello?”

“Peter.”

“Deuc. Why are you calling me?”   
“Well it seems that Argent has caught wind of a rumor. A whisper that not every Volkov went down that night in Moscow. I thought you would appreciate the information. Particularly in the case of the Argent heir, it seems that Gerard believes a rat is in their midst.”

“Thank you, I’ll be moving my plans up then.”  _ How are the children?  _ He wants to ask. But the door behind his is opening and voices are coming closer. “Good night.” 

“Hey, Peter! Are you coming?”

“Where to?”   
“It’s fight night, the guys are meeting at Cam’s.” It would be a good way to learn, since his original timeline was being forced smaller than expected, who was where. 

“Why not.”

*

He’s appointed as a property guard. Chris seems more apprehensive than impressed. 

“Gerard isn’t a man to be underestimated. I don’t think he’s thinking clearly at the moment either.”

“And why would that be?” 

“He’s been angry. Exceptionally so.”

“How would you know?”   
“I spent time with him recently. I avoid it when I can but sometimes I can’t manage to get away.” 

“What has him so angry?”   
“He thinks there’s a spy.” the man sighs, leans back against the couch. “Anyway, how about you come here and forget about the work talk? I could use a hand with something.”

Peter smiles, “Is that so?” 

“Yeah.” 

*

He is given a tour of the grounds, handed a gun, and told he was to do little more than wait for the rest of his shift. It’s boring but he can’t afford to mess up yet. So instead he waits. 

For weeks he does nothing but wait, catching glimpses of rooms from one post to the next but never gaining enough progress to make his move. That is, until Kate comes. 

She decides that he should accompany her around the city. It takes all the power in his body and mind not to simply slit her throat in the seat beside him. His patience is rewarded in the form of a key. Kate lets herself into her father’s study and Peter… well. Peter finds it  _ far  _ too easy to make himself a copy while she relays stories of her most recent atrocities. Impressive things if Peter cared to give any credit. He doesn’t. He only cares about the impression in his pocket and how close he is to Argent blood on his hands. 

He returns that night to his apartment and finds Chris on the steps with takeout in hand. 

“What do I owe the pleasure?”   
“It’s been over a year since we met, I thought a celebration was in order.” 

In truth it was closer to two but who was Peter to deny Chris this? 

“Well, let’s celebrate then.” 


	3. Chapter 3

It’s too easy to snap the neck of his assigned partner. Some ex military brat with too cocky a smile for his skill. He drags the body into the shrubbery out of sight of the cameras and moves on. Two years, one week, and three days since he had been initiated into the Argent institution. Far longer since his family had burned at the bastards’ hands. He walks through the lavish house with as much confidence as he possessed in his body. He smiled at the servant girl and waved at the doorman. It was a restroom break so far as they could be concerned. 

For the guard in the hall he laughed as he passed by and slipped the knife from the other’s pocket easily. Then he stands outside the study doors, key held between his fingers as he takes the moment to breathe. This. This is what he had been working toward for  _ years.  _ He opens the door. 

“What?” The old man barks before Peter even steps into view. 

“I have news, sir.” Soft, demure even; if he were anyone else that is. 

“That door was locked.”

“You’re mistaken.” 

“Well, what is it? What’s the news?” Gerard Argent remains sitting behind his desk and Peter approaches easily enough. 

“There’s a traitor on the grounds.”

He’s always been fast. Faster than Talia, than Anatoly who had always prided himself on his speed with a knife. Gerard manages to stand halfway from his hair before the garrote is around his throat. 

“There is a Volkov in your midst.” 

To strangle him would be too easy. He holds the wire until the old man’s eyes bulge and the desperation loses its edge. Then he releases the pressure and slams his face into the desk. It makes such a satisfying sound that he does it twice. 

“You killed my family and thought there wouldn’t be consequences? You thought that no one would come for you?” his voice cracks with emotion and he stops, looking down at the pathetic excuse for a leader. “I’m going to burn  _ everything  _ you have. I’ll slit your daughter’s throat like she did my cousin. I will erase your name from history.” 

The door creaks, Gerard begins to shout but Peter slaps him hard enough to send him sprawling onto the floor. 

He pulls his pistol from it’s holster and levels it at the intruder. 

He levels it at  _ Chris _ .

“Peter?” 

“Christopher! Shoot him!” 

“Shut up.” Peter snaps, never looking away from the man he had shared this facade of a life with. No, not a facade. Not with Chris. He breathes deep, keeps steady. “What are you doing here?”   
“You disappointment! Shoot him, dammit!” Chris’ eyes flicker to the man on the floor, “Son!”

_ Son?  _ He doesn’t know how he never put it together. 

“Chris. Chris Argent.” His laugh is bitter. “Oh this is rich.” Anger was purer than hurt. It was a stronger armor in the moments it was needed. “Did you know who I was? Did you? Do you now?”

“Peter, stop this.”

“He killed my family. He killed my nieces, my brothers, my sister’s newborn child.  _ Your family  _ killed mine. I am going to kill him, I am going to kill every man and woman who tries to stop me.” he takes a deep breath. “So please, Christopher, don’t try to stop me.” The man looks to his father, eyes wide and hands clenched at his sides. Then he looks back to Peter and there’s something in his eyes that the Russian cannot ignore. “Please, Chris. Go now. Let me do this.”

“I’m staying.”

“No. You will go or I will put a bullet in you. Lover or not.”

“I knew you weren’t worth it” Gerard begins to rise and Peter shoots him once, through the shoulder. 

“You don’t get to speak to him. It’s me that you should be begging.” 

“I don’t have any loyalty to him.” Peter cannot decipher what the other man is getting at and he doesn't care to try either. 

“Go on. Get whatever you need from here because I am going to raize it to the ground before this is over. You have ten minutes. If I see you again here I will kill you.” 

He takes all ten minutes to wring screams from the Argent patriarch. With a lighter and can of fuel that he had so carefully placed weeks prior he sets fire to the study. Leaves the old man to drag himself toward the door but be forever unable to reach it through the heat and the pain. He kills two more men in the hallway just outside, sets another flame to start in the dining room. 

In all it takes him half and hour after leaving the study to clean up the mess he has made. He takes the first car he comes across, blood trickling down his chest and head throbbing from a well placed punch. He drives home with no stops, leaves the car in a garage three blocks away and uses his jacket to cover the blood on his clothes. He thinks about Chris. 

*

“Deuc, it’s over.”

“Should I tell the children?”   
“Not yet. I have some cleaning up to do here. But tell them I’ll be back soon.”

*

“A massive fire was started at the home, investigators suspect arson and the Federal Bureau of Investigation arrived to take over the case yesterday. Police Chief Raymond Barrow is here to tell us more.” he mutes the newscast and stands as the doorbell rings for the second time. He had been packing, his suitcase sitting in the living room floor with his clothing strewn about it.

He looks out the window and thinks about marching back up the stairs. He opens it instead.

“Chris.”

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t think that’s wise.” 

Chris has always been a man of few words. Those that come next leave Peter with a hard choice.

“I didn’t hide it from you. I… I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here or what I’m feeling. I mean, dammit Peter. This is a mess.”

“I know.”

“I want to hate you.” 

“You don’t?” 

“No. I… I don’t think I do.” 

“Well… I haven’t packed the coffee maker yet.” 

Peter allows him back inside. 

*

“Uncle?”

Laura is standing at the foot of the stairs when Peter walks through the front door of Deucalion’s home. She’s hardly a girl any longer, a woman in the eyes of the state in only a year or so. 

“ _ Hello.”  _ He’s nearly bowled over by the hug she gives him, face tucked tight in the crook of his neck. 

_ “You didn’t… I thought you weren’t coming back.”  _

_ “Of course I was coming back. Now, where is your brother and sister?”  _

Derek, hair black as night and eyes trained on the floor. He gives Peter a hug but it’s nowhere near as tight as that he received from Laura. 

“Are we going home?” He asks in a quiet voice.

“We’re going to make a home… we can’t go back to the old country. Not now.” It disappoints them all, Peter included. 

Cora, an infant when he left for the first time, hides behind her siblings legs and stares. Peter crouches to her level but it gets him little more than a wary look and nervous shift. It hurts. He can’t pretend that it doesn’t, but he smiles anyway. 

“We’ll be going back south. I have a… a partner. He’ll help make sure that we’re all truly safe.”

“And the family? The… work?”

A takes a deep breath. “I suppose that is up to you. There’s a unique opportunity on the table at this moment and I, personally, would like to seize it.”

Laura is so much like her mother. It makes Peter close himself in his room with Chris and hold his head in his hands the first night they return. The house he had bought was larger than necessary, three floors and an easy four thousand square feet but still too small to escape his thoughts. 

“She’ll make a good right hand.”

“I have you for that.”

“Then she’ll make a good reminder.”

“Of what?” 

“That you’re still human; not always at the top of the food chain.” Chris’ hands slide over his shoulders, thumb working at a knot. 

“You’re going to spoil them, I can feel it.”

“Maybe. You’ll be glad for it though.”

“Maybe.”

He was lost, untethered….

There’s a crash from the floor below. 

He stands, hand catching Chris’ as Derek’s voice calls out in a panicked shout of “Laura did it!”

Peter doesn’t know where he’s going, but he knows what he has to lose now. 


	4. epilogue

_ two months later _

“I think we should keep him. He was new enough I don’t think it would be a problem.” Chris is laying against the pillows, laptop in his lap while Peter shaves in the en suite bathroom. 

“If you think it will work out we can try it; I don’t want too many familiar faces though. Especially if they’re connected with Kate still.” She was the one who got away, Peter hadn’t mentioned going after her yet. The kids were still settling in and young Cora hardly would look at him let alone was in a good enough place for Peter to be comfortable leaving for any length of time. He sets the razor on the vanity and wipes his jaw. “Are you still taking Derek and Laura out for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yep, thought we’d go to the Fish Market.”

“I’m jealous.”

“Yeah well, you could join us.”

“I wish I could, but I have a surprise to get in order.”

Their empire.

“I don’t want to do what Gerard did.”

“So we build it better.”

“Different.”

“Indeed.”

It’s a long road ahead of them, on more paths than one. But they’ll build it all the same. Peter has his family, slowly growing larger and stronger with every passing day. With a woman who looks so much like his sister that he sometimes forgets she’s not her, who has eyes of steel and a heart of gold. With a young boy so soft spoken and light footed he may well have been a ghost, who collected paints and canvas in a room of his own and smiled every so often like the sun. With a child, her eyes mistrustful but her laughter loud in the room next door and who ran around like a bullet. With a man who is patient, who carries just as many scars, and who had hurt and been hurt in turn more times that they could count. It was broken but they _will_ rebuild it. 

Forged in rust and blood. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> (Note: This work may be subject to future change and editing.)


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